


The irony of a beating heart

by Orion_is_Here



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Angst and Tragedy, Blue - Freeform, Character Death, Other, also trans fundy, friend, ghostbur and glatt are friends, ghostbur is here, i really dont know what to write here, schlatt fucking dies, schlatt has a heart attack but make it 🎇dramatic🎇, yuh get it bestfriend i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:48:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28405791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Orion_is_Here/pseuds/Orion_is_Here
Summary: They had all left him, even now, as his breath caught in his throat and gasps threatened to obscure his thoughts they still laughed. People he had called allies, even.... friendsOR schlatts death was kinda lackluster and i wanted to 🌌spice it up🌌
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s), implied schlattbur?, mentioned jschlatt/quackity
Comments: 3
Kudos: 27





	The irony of a beating heart

Schlatt grabbed at the tie cinched tightly to his throat, the wretched thing, fiddling with the fabric desperately, tongue coated in liquor, eyes thick with tears, looking at the faces that surrounded him, he glared. 

Those bastards! They were sneering at their president! Laughing at him as his breath caught in his lungs creating a rough scratchy sound that left the caravan shifting uncomfortably. Still despite the pain, the voice raised, he didn't care if he hurt them, they had all left anyways. To hell with them. They deserved it. With venom on horned figures tongue and scorn seeping from his tone he cursed them, told his son he was a traitor and a liar, told his husband he was a cheat and never worth a bit of the shit schlatt put up with, telling his once secretary he would never be a man, and telling his friend, oh his once friend now sworn enemy.

Telling wilbur, the crazy son of a bitch standing behind this whole thing, telling the man pushing his youngest kin to shoot one of whom tommy looked up to so much, telling will, the man laughing in the face of one he would once of called his greatest ally, telling will, that he had finally stolen his nation back. He had torn the crown off of his horns and away from his hands, the hands that nurtured the city and cultivated the land, he had ripped his tubbo away from him, just as schlatt had stripped away wills citizenship all those months ago, “isn't that right Wilbur?”. “After all this is what you wanted right?!” he huffed, voice catching on the lum in his chest. “Isn't this what you and your damn brother always wanted?” As schlatt roared these last words, he shot a look nothing short of malevolent towards the pig hybrid sitting in the corner. Lighting a fire that roared benevolently behind his pink bangs.

Schlatt dropped to his shaking knees, the aching in his chest becoming unbearable whilst his body threatened to combust on the spot. Clutching at his chest he turned his gaze to the eyes of his once cheerful and grinning friend. 

Instead of the hearty brown orbs he was so used to all he received in return was nothing but a pit of anger and sadness that reflected in his own, amber eyes. 

As the smell of toast quickly filled his head Schlatt desperately pawed at the slick floorboards of the van his nation was built around, scrambling to find the bottle of half empty gin that had been thrown away so carelessly moments before. 

As eyes looked down on him with pity, resentment, and satisfaction. He froze, no longer able to bear the weight of his own added stress and resentment. And with a final shuddering breath he cursed the man in front of him. 

Steel toed boots shift on the snow, seeming to catch at the every slip and slide of the terrain. But even still desperately pushing forward, realizing that the snow was swallowing the attempts of movement. Tucked tightly into his palm, a piece of cloth, once forgotten in the rubble . A scrap of a familiar blue sweater, given away long ago, maybe to a son? The ram shakes their head, to blurry, too sad. Voices creep closer, pushing the spirit to hide, fearing the outcome if the voices recognize the figure. He doesn't feel welcome here, as he turns to slink back into the trees he feels a cold hand planted on his shoulder, whirling around with fear in his eyes he steps back, only to find a pale figure in a yellow sweater, stained with blood. The rams eyes shift from the blood stained jersey to the familiar eyes of the boy in front of him. 

With a smile the figure airily breathed, “Hello! I'm Will! Who are you?” 

Biting his cheek, he frowned. The ghost just watched as the ram shifted uncomfortably, eventually he spoke, voice raw and raspy, “ I guess… I'm…... a friend.”

**Author's Note:**

> wow that was fucking short- I SWEAR IT WAS LONGER IN DOCS
> 
> please fucking give me criticism


End file.
